A Friend Such As You
by Erika
Summary: At the beginning of the quest, Aragorn helped Legolas find hope. Now, Legolas returns the favor.


**Title:** A Friend Such As You

**Series**: Book of Days (basically, it's a series of missing moments.  Little scenes between Aragorn and Legolas that will take place throughout the trilogy – please read author's note (2) for more info.)

**Author**: Erika )

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** At the beginning of the quest, Aragorn helped Legolas find hope.  Now, Legolas returns the favor.

**Timeframe:** Takes place after the Fellowship sets out from Rivendell and before they attempt to cross the mountain.

**Spoilers:** For the FOTR, as if any of you haven't seen it.

**Category:** Angst, POV.

**Disclaimers:** It would make me the happiest person in the world to be able to truthfully say that Aragorn and Legolas belong to me, but alas, it is not so.  I make no money from this, and it is written (against my will) for entertainment purposes only.

**Feedback:** Both positive feedback and _constructive_ criticism are greatly appreciated and will be cherished!

**Archive:**  Please ask and send me a link to your site so that I can check it out. =D

**Author's Note:** (1) It's been a few years since I last read the LOTR in its entirety so these missing moments are basically based on the movies.  I apologize in advance if I contradict anything that's stated in the books; any mistakes are purely accidental. (2) So far, this series consists of the following stories:  "A Light in the Darkness", "A Friend Such As You", "Darkness", "The Comfort of Listening", "There is Always Hope", and "Fall of a Friend".  They can be found on my website.

**

A Friend Such As You

**

**Legolas:**

Ten days had passed since the Fellowship's departure from Rivendell.  Thus far, the journey had proceeded without incident.  As a result, our pace was quick and our spirits were relatively high.  Whenever we stopped to eat, Boromir and Aragorn would take the hobbits aside and attempt to instruct them in the art of self-defense.  At night, Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, the dwarf, and I would take turns standing guard while the others slept.

I always took the first watch.  Often, I would purposefully neglect to wake Aragorn, whose turn it was after mine, because I knew he frequently suffered from restless nights and could use the extra time to regain his full strength.  Instead, I would take his shift and wake Boromir myself.  Aragorn would exasperatedly chastise me the next morning if I did this but I knew he was touched, not angered, by this show of concern.

Tonight would be one of those nights, I decided as I watched Aragorn fretfully toss and turn in the flickering firelight.  His sleep had grown increasingly uneasy with each passing day and it had taken him over an hour to find rest this night.  Though I had not questioned him, I knew he suffered from terrible nightmares that made true respite impossible.  Sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night and find that he stood away from the others, staring forlornly up at the darkened sky.  Did he seek answers in the endless field of sparkling stars or did they simply comfort him?  I often wondered.

Aragorn made a distorted whimpering sound and seemed to shrink back into himself.  My keen vision told me that his eyes were darting madly about and that he was covered in a sheen of sweat.  His brow was furrowed; he looked troubled…and scared.

I sighed.  How could such a strong, courageous man suffer so much self-doubt?

Suddenly, my friend emitted a short, half-strangled cry of despair and began thrashing against the blanket he had bundled himself in.  He was clearly in the clutches of some horrible nightmare, one more intense than any other I had seen him bear.  His cries were growing in pitch and intensity and his face was a mask of fear.  I had to wake him, it was the only way to release him from whatever horror he faced.

Lithely, I stepped between Merry and Pippin, who were both peacefully asleep, and crouched next to Aragorn, who was becoming increasingly louder and more agitated.  He would soon disturb the others.

"Aragorn," I spoke quietly into the night air, "my friend, awake."  Gently, I lay a hand on his sweat-drenched forearm and shook him from his fitful slumber.

My friend tensed and his eyes shot open.  Responding to blind fear and adrenaline, he grabbed my wrist in a painfully tight grip and attempted to push me away from him.  I was stronger than him, though, and I refused to yield.  "Aragorn," I whispered kindly, "it is all right, it is Legolas.  You are safe, I won't harm you."

A look of utter panic darkened my friend's expressive eyes and I knew he neither recognized my face or voice.  He was still lost in the terror of his dream.  "Let me go," he ordered brokenly as he began to struggle in earnest against my grip.

Tightening my hold on his forearm, I placed a gentle hand on his cheek and drew our faces together until our eyes were but a few inches apart.  His eyes were wide and unnaturally dilated and a feverish glow of fear filled his gaze.  It was such a marked difference from the calm, if always-troubled look he usually bore.  It saddened me to see him this shattered.

"Aragorn," I commanded harshly, "look at me."

The frantic flitting of his eyes stopped and he seemed to focus on my face, though I could tell he still didn't see me.

"You were dreaming, my friend," I softened the tenor of my voice and spoke in the dulcet tones of my own tongue, "let the dream go.  Come back to me.  It's Legolas."

A semblance of clarity returned to Aragorn's eyes.  "Legolas?" he questioned and visibly shook himself from the clutches of his nightmare.  His grip on my wrist loosened and he shut his eyes.

"Yes, Aragorn," I returned to the tongue speech, "It is I."

Aragorn took several deep breaths and when he opened his eyes, his gaze was clear, though unmistakably still wracked by fear.

I released his forearm but did not remove my hand from his face.  Instead, I moved my thumb in soothing circles over his stubled cheek.  "It's me, your friend."

He looked around at the sleeping forms of our companions.  "Thank you for waking me," he murmured.

I nodded once, and offered him a small smile.

"What did you see?" I asked mildly.

Aragorn swallowed.  "My failure," he whispered, his voice barely audible.  "I saw myself…take the Ring from Frodo…  I saw Rivendell in ruins.  You were dead.  So was Arwen.  You came back to me as spirits and…blamed me for your downfall and the downfall of Middle Earth."

Closing my eyes, I suppressed a sigh.  "Oh, Aragorn."

"I know what you would say," he leaned into my touch, "That I am stronger than Isildur, but…" he let his voice dwindle into silence.  He didn't feel strong.

In Rivendell, Aragorn had helped me find hope.  Now, his was dwindling.  I wished I could provide the same light against the darkness that he had given me but I knew I couldn't.  His fears were different than mine.  All I could do was attempt to comfort him.

"So much hangs on us.  What if we fail?" Aragorn asked, searching my face with haunted eyes.

I let my hand fall from his face and instead twined my fingers with his.  "Our chances are not so slim," I reminded him, knowing it would be useless to assure him that he would not succumb to the weakness of his lineage and try and take the Ring, "We have Gandalf's wisdom leading us.  We have your strength defending us.  Frodo is courageous and will not give in to the Ring's pull of evil."  I said the last bit firmly, though of that I was not entirely sure.  The hobbit _was_ strong – he had a better chance of enduring the Ring's evil than any of us – but I knew it would slowly eat away at him.  It would become more difficult for him to resist its pull.  The only thing that kept me from thinking he would fail was hope, the hope that Aragorn had unknowingly given me.

"You believe we will succeed?" he sought reassurance.

"Yes," I answered unfalteringly, after a moment's hesitation.

"Why?"

"Simply…because we must."  I _had_ to believe we would succeed.  What other choice did I have?  I could not give into the despair that had nearly overwhelmed me in Rivendell; I had to cling to the fragile hope that the Fellowship offered.

Aragorn didn't respond.  The images his dream had assaulted him with were still too fresh in his mind.  "Come," I said ever-so-gently, "Relax."  I brushed my hand over his eyes, shutting them.  "I shall help you find your rest and watch over you while you sleep."

Trusting me without question, Aragorn allowed himself to sag back against his blanket.

Tucking an unruly lock of hair behind his ear, I began to sing an old lullaby of my people.  It was a song meant to calm upset children and thus spoke only of light and beauty and hope.  It was sweet and melodious and I hoped it would soothe him.

Something akin to a smile flickered across Aragorn's lips.  His fingers tightened around mine.  "Thank you…everyone should be blessed with a friend such as you."

Blushing, I continued to sing until his hand went limp in my grasp and the steady rising and falling of his chest told me he was asleep.  Then, I smoothed my fingers through his hair.  "Goodnight, mellon nîn (_my friend_)."

THE END


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